Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Judged
by Crescent Dreamweaver
Summary: A TCP fic. A teenage girl confronts Reverend Stryker while he's being interviewed by reporters.


JUDGE NOT, LEST YE BE JUDGED

by

Crescent Dreamweaver

email: catz4dog1@aol.com

Disclaimer: X-Men belongs to Marvel. The concept of TCP belongs (I assume) to Kielle. I just own Callie.

Synopsis: A TCP crossover fic that popped into my head after I read the short-story sequel to "God Loves, Man Kills" which was called "The Cause". A teenage girl confronts Reverend William Stryker when he's being interviewed by reporters. 100 points to the Hogwarts House of your choice if you can guess what this is a crossover with.

* *= indicates emphasized words

Let the story begin!

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Thursday, November 15th, 2003

It was a traditional late autumn day for Washington, D.C. The leaves had all fallen off the trees, covering the ground with their fiery red and orange colors, a few of them still retaining touches of the summer's bright green, slightly dulled by the change of seasons. The wind buffeted at the backs of the few joggers who dared to leave the comfort of their houses, and the skies were dark, threatening to open up at any moment.

But for Reverend William Stryker, the day couldn't have been more perfect if it had been a warm spring day. He was surrounded by several curious reporters, each one struggling to have his or her microphone in the reverend's face.

And Reverend Stryker was loving every minute of it.

"I know that there are people out there who believe that mutants and humans are brethren in the eyes of God," he was saying as the reporters crowded even closer to him. "But mutants and humans are *_not_* brethren, and certainly not in the eyes of God. Humans are the ruling race of this planet. Our ancestors faced herds of wild mammoths and saber-toothed tigers, and they survived. Now we must survive against mutants, no matter what it takes. We must destroy them, and send them back to the pits of hell from whence they came."

"You're judging them."

Reverend Stryker blinked, and the reporters all became silent, turning to look at the newcomer. It was a teenage girl, her brown hair pulled back into a high ponytail that just barely brushed the nape of her neck. Her pale brown eyes were narrowed as she gazed at the reverend.

"Do you have something to say about this subject, young lady?" Reverend Stryker said finally, breaking the silence. He gave her a faint smile. "Please, come forward and tell us your opinion. After all, the views of young people on subjects such as this are very much valued."

The teenage girl stepped forward, revealing the nondescript clothing she wore. The reporters all stared at her, wondering if they should try to ask her questions while she was talking with Reverend Stryker.

"You're a reverend, correct?" She spoke softly, but her voice carried nonetheless. It had a soft British accent.

Stryker gave her a "du-uh" look. "Ehh, yes, I am."

"So you must know the Bible from cover to cover, hmm?"

"Well, yes."

"Then why are you judging mutants?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Doesn't the Bible say, 'Judge not, lest ye be judged?'"

"Young lady, you obviously have no concept of the mutant threat."

"What mutant threat? The only threat I see is from people like you, who have their heads stuck so far up their arses that they can't see when they are hurting innocent people, or worse, who don't care that they're hurting innocent people."

"I am doing God's bidding."

"No, you're not. I can't think of a single place in the Bible where it says that you need to kill people in His name."

"Mutants are a threat to society!"

"So are people like you." Stryker opened his mouth, a furious look on his face, but before he could say anything, the girl raised her hand, silencing him. "Well, it's fairly obvious that I'm not going to be able to convince you otherwise, and I don't have the power or the right to change your mind for you." She turned to leave, but then stopped. "One last thing, Reverend."

"What?"

"When you die, say hello to Adolf for me."

Stryker's mouth fell open as the teenage girl walked away, head held high.

* * *

Callie walked away from Reverend Stryker and the gaggle of reporters that had been surrounding him, and stopped when she was about a hundred feet away from him. She turned left, heading towards a tall man that was leaning against a tree, reading a newspaper. The date on it was Friday, November 16th.

He looked up at her, and smiled faintly. His mahogany-brown curls tumbled over his forehead as usual, and his pale blue eyes twinkled with good humor.

"How did it go?" he asked simply, folding the newspaper up and tucking it into one of his pockets.

"Pretty much the way it did in all of tomorrow's articles." Callie's shoulders sagged. "I've never been so ashamed of my own race. Those reporters were flocking around him like a bunch of bloody seagulls, and he was absolutely basking in the glow of their attention." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "He'll never change."

"Callie, people like him never change. They remain set in their ways. I told you that."

"And I didn't listen."

"No, you didn't." He lifted up her chin gently. "But you did the right thing. You put a seed of doubt in those reporters' minds. And when people wake up tomorrow morning and read the various articles, that same seed will be planted in their minds." He hugged her gently. "You did the right thing." Placing an arm around her shoulders, he led Callie towards a large blue police box that was nearby. "Come along, Callie. We've got many things to do, and not much time to do them in."

"Har, har," Callie said, rolling her eyes at the pun.

They disappeared inside the police box, and shut the door behind them.

There was a moment of silence, and then, with a wheezing/groaning noise, the box disappeared into thin air.

The End

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A/N: God, I'm tired. I wrote this in, like, less than an hour, and it's really, really late at night. So, have you figured out what the crossover is yet? Let me know if you figure it out!

Anyhoo, this was my very first attempt at a TCP fic, so please don't flame me. Remember, I've got a roll of duct tape, a shovel, and a big backyard. You do the math.


End file.
